


Wrong Company

by neveralarch



Series: Maintain Position [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Breeding, Collars, Dehumanization, Dirty Talk, Empurata, Knotting, M/M, Pharma's not having a great time but everyone else is!, SG Ratchet keeps modding Pharma's valve because... he's bored..., Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25978315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: Drift's horny, but Ratchet's trying to get work done. Luckily Pharma's there to keep Drift occupied.(Pharma doesn't feel that lucky.)
Relationships: Background Drift/Ratchet - Relationship, Drift | Deadlock/Pharma, background Pharma/Ratchet
Series: Maintain Position [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1885471
Comments: 14
Kudos: 100





	Wrong Company

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing the series of 'SG Pharma loves Ratchet to an unhealthy degree while Ratchet lends him out to his friends' that I began in [Unwinds from Within](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24794293). This fic contains more body modification, lots of breeding kink, and rape/noncon where the main character doesn't protest but clearly doesn't want to be there. Please let me know if you need details.

Pharma was cleaning energon off Ratchet's tools, trying to keep himself small and unnoticeable. It wasn't a good idea to stand out when Drift was hanging around.

Not that Drift would deign to notice Pharma when there were better targets. He was looming over Ratchet, his hands curving luxuriantly over Ratchet's hips. Pharma couldn't help but stare at those hands, with their strong fingers and sharp-tipped talons. He'd had hands to touch Ratchet with, once. He still remembered the way Ratchet's plating had felt, so smooth, so warm.

The tool in Pharma’s claws was spotless. He set it down and picked up a stained crowbar, struggling a little to grip the long flat length of it in his thick, clumsy claws. 

Drift tucked his chin down on Ratchet's shoulder and sighed.

"I'm busy," said Ratchet, his gaze fixed on the leg he was welding to yet another, completely different-shaped leg.

"But _Ratty_ ," whined Drift. "I'm _horny_."

"I'll take care of you after I've finished this." Ratchet fished another leg from his box of discarded limbs. "In an hour. Or two."

Drift traced a claw over the Ratchet's thigh. "I don't think I can wait that long..."

Ratchet slapped Drift's hand away. Pharma had a bare moment to appreciate that before Ratchet said: "Just play with Pharma until I'm done."

Pharma tried not to cringe as Drift's helm snapped up and he turned to focus on Pharma. Drift looked him up and down, his optics lingering on Pharma’s hips and his wings. His best features, Ratchet said. The only features Pharma really had left.

Drift's lip curled. "He doesn't have the equipment to handle me. I need a big deep valve to empty my load into..." He pawed at Ratchet's aft, his hands squeezing at the soft metal. Pharma wanted to throw himself between them, claw out Drift’s optics for even _looking_ at his beloved Ratchet.

But Ratchet elbowed Drift off. "I rehauled Pharma’s valve last week. Even put a gestation unit in there."

Pharma did cringe this time. There wasn't any mistaking Drift’s sudden interest, the flare of dangerous red in his optics. Pharma's claw seized on a particularly gory wrench as Drift stalked behind him, crowding into Pharma's personal space and breathing on his wings.

"Gestation unit," said Drift, those big, dexterous hands already wrapping around Pharma's waist. "You putting him out for stud, Ratchet?"

"I just wanted to try it," said Ratchet, already absorbed in his construction of legs again. "I was getting bored with the whole processor fuck situation."

Pharma wished Ratchet would look up, stop tinkering and look at him. He could take Drift if Ratchet was there, if Ratchet would tell him the positions to take, tell him if he was performing acceptably. But all he could see was Ratchet’s broad white back. Then he didn’t even have that, as Drift pushed Pharma's face down to the table with a hand on the back of Pharma's neck, his weight pressing the links of Ratchet’s choke collar into Pharma’s thin armor.

Pharma didn’t struggle. Ratchet didn’t like whining. Ratchet wanted him to be quiet and obedient, and Pharma held to that even as his cockpit ground against the metal of the table. Deadlock kicked his legs further apart, his other hand dragging Pharma's hips out and up until Pharma was up on the tips of his feet, trembling with the tension of remaining still.

Deadlock ran his knuckles over Pharma’s panel. “Love this view. You almost look like a normal mech when you’ve got your helm down and your aft up. And that medic paintjob… Nothing better. Shame you had to betray our Prime.”

Pharma’s claw clenched on the wrench. He focused on venting. Just keep quiet and still. 

"Be a good drone and open this for me," murmured Drift, rapping on Pharma's panel. "You want to be good for Ratchet, don't you?"

Pharma's panel clicked open without even a thought. He shuddered, and his claw squeezed so hard it snapped the wrench in two.

Drift chuckled. "Relax. I'm not going to fit in you if you don't relax." The pads of his fingers rubbed at the tight circle of Pharma's valve, rubbed and rubbed and reminded Pharma of what he no longer had. He _tried_ to relax, but he couldn’t see Ratchet, and Drift’s hand was so tight on the back of his neck, and—

Drift’s grip loosened, then fell away entirely. Pharma wanted to look up, wanted to scramble away, but he could still feel the warm growling of Drift’s engine behind him. There was a clatter behind Pharma, like something hitting the floor, and then there was _warm_ , and _wet_ , oh _Primus_.

Oh, oh, he didn't have a mouth either. Why did Drift have a mouth? Why was he so _good_ at using it? Pharma wanted to cry, but he physically couldn't. He'd tried to help a few Decepticon prisoners, and he'd lost his face and his hands. Drift had literally _been_ a Decepticon, and he got to keep _everything_. 

Drift's tongue was buried in Pharma's valve channel, and his fingers stroked over the conductive metal Ratchet had left bare around Pharma's hole. When Drift pulled back and licked over the metal, his mouth _dripping_ with conductive fluid, Pharma overloaded. Just a small one, like missing a step. He tried to catch his balance, gentle his systems, even as his spark felt like it was squirming in his chest.

There was something heavy nudging along Pharma’s thigh.

"Think you're stretched enough now," said Drift, that wet mouth so close to Pharma’s audial. Then he shoved his spike into Pharma's valve.

Pharma shut off his vocalizer because he didn't want to scream and disrupt Ratchet's work. Then he kept it off because he didn't want Drift to hear him moaning.

He'd seen Drift's spike before. Ratchet didn’t bother with privacy around his possessions. He'd huddled in the corner of Ratchet's hab more than once, watching Drift fuck Ratchet and hating it. Drift's spike was short and fat, a custom job that Ratchet had modeled after some inferior organic. It didn't even extend, like a proper spike. Drift had to manually thrust like some kind of rutting automaton.

It felt good. Pharma hadn't ever thought that it would feel good.

Ratchet had given Pharma a test drive, after he'd updated Pharma's valve. Pharma had loved every minute of it—the closeness of their sparks, the way Ratchet watched him with measuring optics—but he'd felt unsettlingly, treacherously empty. Ratchet's narrow, standard spike hadn't filled him the way Drift’s modded monster did.

Pharma had thought Ratchet liked it, that he’d wanted to feel Pharma loose and open for him. But what if Ratchet had built his valve for this? Made it to loan out and occupy Drift when Ratchet couldn’t be bothered to appease his favorite assassin?

Drift leaned over Pharma, covering his back as he took Pharma in fast, shallow strokes. "Always wanted to fuck someone with a gestation unit," he panted. "Flood their valve, watch their optics as they realized what it meant. You've hardly got a face, though. Gotta sing for me instead."

Pharma kept his vocalizer off. Drift snarled and thrust in a long stroke that slammed his hips against Pharma's aft. "Sing for me," he said, "or I'll rip your throat out."

Pharma resisted for half a moment, but Drift’s sharp fingers spread over his throat and Pharma disengaged the lock on his vocalizer. The air was instantly full of his whimpers, it would be _so_ distracting while Ratchet tried to work. Drift's engine revved, his thrusts coming harsher and faster.

"Gonna put a spark in you." Drift mouthed at the back of Pharma's neck. "Lots of sparks. You think Ratchet'll still want you when you've whelped? When your valve is gaped open and your own spark is struggling not to gutter with the strain? Maybe he'll give you back to me, let me fuck another litter into you. He doesn’t need an assistant. You can be my breeder instead."

No, no, no, Ratchet would _never_ give him up, he'd _never_ let him go, he'd _promised_. Pharma managed to look up, his chin scraping rhythmically against the table as Drift took him. Ratchet was still working, still ignoring them. Ignoring Pharma.

"Why did he put that gestation unit in you, anyway?" asked Drift. "Maybe he was gonna use you to collect samples, huh? Put you down on some alien planet with your valve locked open and come back in a week or two to see who'd used you? There's all kinds of things in the galaxy that need a warm wet place to lay their eggs."

"Ratchet wouldn't," said Pharma, the words practically forced out of him, laced with static.

"He would," said Drift, his voice deep and certain. "He gave you to me."

He thrust in deep and bit down on the back of Pharma's neck, right above where Ratchet's collar sat. It wasn't Pharma's _fault_ that he overloaded, it was just that it felt a little like when Ratchet tugged Pharma's collar tight. Pharma couldn't help it.

"Fuck, that's good," groaned Drift. His spike felt like it was getting bigger. Could it do that? Get wider instead of longer? It was catching on the rim of Pharma's valve now, and after a few more thrusts it wouldn't even come _out_.

Drift settled in deep, his hips just rocking against Pharma’s aft. Pharma felt the wet pulse of transfluid hitting the back of his valve. And then, more worryingly, the rhythmic clicking whirr of his gestation unit opening.

"Yeah." Drift's voice was hoarse. "Yeah, take it all inside you. I got a full tank, hackjob. Plenty enough to spark you."

He bit Pharma's neck again, and laughed when Pharma overloaded again.

\---

Pharma was still curled up under a table when Drift had to go back on shift. Ratchet would've left him there, but he'd just gotten fucked within an inch of his life by a revved-up Drift, and he wanted to cuddle with his toy to wind down.

"Come on, we're going back to my hab," he told Pharma.

No response. Ratchet scowled and bent down, actuators straining, to look Pharma in the face. Empurata expressions were hard to read—Ratchet had thought about installing a digital display in place of Pharma’s remaining optic. He had half of someone’s head somewhere in the lab, maybe in Storage Room C…

Ratchet dragged his thoughts back to the present. He didn’t want a new project, he wanted to enjoy his afterglow. He squinted at Pharma again. Definitely looking a little shell-shocked.

"What's wrong with you?" Ratchet said, impatiently. "Use your words. I took out your processor socket, you don't have an excuse."

Pharma's helm jerked up, and his optic focused on Ratchet's face. "Please don't let him have me."

"Let who have you?" Ratchet reached over and shook Pharma a little, listening for loose connections.

"Drift," whimpered Pharma. "He's sparked me, and you're not going to want me anymore, you're going to just use me as an incubator and leave me on alien planets and see what gets left in my valve—"

"Drift hasn't sparked you." Ratchet dragged Pharma up to his feet and clipped a lead to his collar. "He's sterile. I did the operation myself."

Pharma's vocalizer fuzzed into static. Ratchet jerked the lead and got him moving, out of the medbay and into the corridor. Ratchet’s latest creation trundled after them, banging against the walls a little as it sorted out its fifteen legs.

"You did a good job with Drift," said Ratchet. "Kept him busy and running hot while I finished the cyber-spider. You can sleep on the berth tonight."

"Oh!" Pharma's wings flicked up. "Thank you, Ratchet! Thank you, I'm so—"

"Yeah, yeah." Ratchet waved it off. "Now tell me more about this incubator concept, it sounds promising."

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this fic please let me know! You can also share it on [DW](https://neveralarch.dreamwidth.org/109094.html), [tumblr](https://neveralarch.tumblr.com/post/626819189679751168/wrong-company-neveralarch-transformers), or [twitter](https://twitter.com/neveralarch/status/1295816757589037060).


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